


after

by Seiya234



Category: Ocean's (Movies), Ocean's 8
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 13:20:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14955443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seiya234/pseuds/Seiya234
Summary: It's not only about getting that cool 38 mil.It's figuring out what to DO with it.





	after

The first thing Lou did, after everyone finally left her house, was spend the weekend in bed with Debbie Ocean. 

The second thing Lou did, after Debbie disappeared Tuesday afternoon without a word was spend a few weeks observing her employees at the bar. Who was there for the paycheck, who was there because of the free drinks- which was a surprising amount of them considering that they _knew_  they were getting watered down…

And who had that spark.

The third thing Lou did was close the bar for a week for “restructuring.” 

(she wasn’t worried about losing clientele, not when she was offering two dollar wells and the closest thing to ‘cool’ in Queens.)

Lou bought the building. She let go the staff exclusively dedicated to water-down duty, though she let them take as much shit vodka and rum as each of them could fit in their bags. In their place, top shelf all the way. Finally, the four or five women who had that hungry look- but not too hungry, they still needed some Fear of Lou in them- she placed the bar in their hands.

The fourth thing Lou did was get a sweet bike and fucked right off.

(also known as ‘doing a Debbie’)

—

There were two things Amita invested in after the Met Gala.

The first was a two bedroom in Hamilton Heights. The Upper East Side had been Amita’s initial instinct, but on a subway ride to a real estate agent’s office, an ad had caught her eye, and she had had a better idea instead.

So maybe the flat in Hamilton Heights wasn’t sexy or exciting, but it was rehabbed and it was _hers_.

Just like the studio in Montremarte was _hers_  and the apartment overlooking the Grand Canal in Venice was _hers_ , and the places in Milan, in Amsterdam, in Chennai and Joburg and Mexico City and Christchurch-

Amita got her mom a nice little cottage outside of Panaji, and wasn’t too surprised that she didn’t ask any questions. 

(her mom had done the books for dad’s business for years, after all.) 

The second thing Amita invested in was a new cell phone. Her old one could handle Bumbl and Tinder just fine, but the camera in it had been utter shit.

—

Nine Ball was Samus, Veronica was Wii Fit Trainer.

“So what you gonna do with all that cash?”

“I dunno. You wanna go to college?”

Veronica shrugged. “I guess?”

Samus blasted Wii Fit Trainer off the screen and the match was over. “Cool, when you make up your mind let me know.”

Nine Ball was Samus, Veronica was Olimar.

“Okay but like, even if I go to fucking Harvard and Yale and some school in California all at once, that’s a drop in the bucket. So what about the rest?”

Olimar fell off the stage but at the last second Veronica managed a save and got him back up there. 

“Take care of Mom and Dad-oh and you I guess.”

“Jeez, thanks.”

Nine Ball smirked, and then activated Samus’ special. “Like you can’t handle yourself.”

Nine Ball was Samus, Veronica was Jigglypuff.

She was silent for a few minutes, the only sounds the rapid fire clicks of the buttons on their controllers, but as Jigglypuff claimed victory, Veronica spoke up again.

“You gonna stop?”

Nine Ball snorted. “Never.”

Veronica nodded.

“Okay, so like, you’re fuck-you rich now. You can have whatever you want. So what’s the one dumb thing you’ve ever wanted?”

Her mouse ball sat heavy in her pocket.

“I think I got something in mind.”

—

After taxes and arrears and paying back Fred who let her live rent free in her condo for four months, Rose had only a few million left over.

Which was fine- really! It was! She had clawed her way out of the massive hole she had dug for herself _and_  she had her passport back!

…Okay, she was pretty pissed. but at herself, not her friends, which made it worse.

But if there was one thing Rose always tried to do, it was look on the bright side of things.

Namely, she still had her wits, her hands, and a few million in the bank- nothing to sneeze at!

And more than that, she had not only dressed Daphne Kluger for the Met Ball, she had dressed her for _that_  Met Ball. It had been four months, and the tabloids were still abuzz, which considering that the average attention span of a TMZ reporter was less than a fly fart was astounding.

So when Rose opened a storefront full of the clothes that she _wanted_ to make, not the clothes she _thought_ she had to make, the lines for opening day were around the block. 

There were snide comments and references to mall goth’ and reinventing the wheel, but Rose sold out of her line in four days so they could all- what was it?

Oh yes, do go fuck off.

(the _real_ money came after a lunch with Christian Siriano, which lead to a hit collaboration with Hot Topic.)

—–

Tammy looked over once more at her husband as she pulled them into the warehouse.

She didn’t have to tell him. She really, really didn’t, because he had bought her lame excuse about the garage hook line and sinker for seven years.

Rob never had to know about this, about the last part of herself that she had never shown him. 

This was going to go all horribly wrong and he would narc on her and take Kaeiytlynne and Jakxson away and-

“Honey? Where is this?”

But this was Rob. Rob who still made a point of every Thursday pawning the kids off on the babysitter to take her out. Rob who still rode a motorcycle into work (though he did finally stop doing wheelies on it.) Rob who cooked and did his share of laundry and could manage Kaeiytlynne’s hair better than she could.

Rob who had, over the years, very carefully Not Asked about where the extra money to pay for the house, came from.

Tammy put her hand in his. 

“Rob, there’s something I need to tell you.”

(he didn’t say much and he wasn’t exactly jumping for joy after. But as Rob ventured at dinner, that was college and retirement taken care of, and that night they had some of the wildest sex in Tammy’s life, so she knew they were good.)

—

Beng on the Co-op board was… surprisingly fun? Constance lived for drama- not hers, no, life was too short for that shit.

But watching two rich old ladies with tiny hairless purse dogs rip each other to verbal shreds? Fucking priceless.

And they actually loved her? It helped that Constance knew how to bribe old ladies: which was spending Sunday afternoons drinking tea, listening to them, and pretending not to notice how much they cheated at Bridge.

No, having her own place was awesome, not having to worry about lifting enough stuff to cover bills was awesome….

But lifting watches and wallets and the occasional ring, after the Met, after carrying several million dollars worth of diamonds in her pocket- it just felt so _small._

There was a bigger world out there. Bigger stakes. Bigger rewards.

(Debbie had slipped her number into Constance’s pocket, and two months later, she called it. If Debbie wasn’t cooking something else up, then at least she could point Constance to someone who was.)

—-

Daphne didn’t spend any of it; she really didn’t need to, not after her back to back weekend openers of “Mission Impossible: 7″ and “Two Weekends In Tuscany.”

(after all, what was the point otherwise of being Hollywood’s favorite starlet?)

No, she got in touch with an accountant Tammy recommended who specialized in funds like these, socked it all away, and put it out of her mind until one day a script came across her desk.

“You don’t have to even read it,” her agent said over the phone. “I’m just doing a favor for a cousin of mine, but look, it’s weird, you talk to yourself in the third person for half the movie, this is only their second screenplay-”

“I’ll do it.”

Silence on the other end. Finally-

“Daph, this… even Spielberg could only probably milk a million dollars from this. This is going to be an arthouse dud.”

38 million dollars sat in an offshore account. She didn’t need to spend it, she was worth twice as much without it.

“You know, about that. I’ve always wanted to try my hand at directing.”

—

Debbie Ocean drank her martini.

Then she walked off out into the rain and out of the frame.

(for now)


End file.
